


drag my teeth across your chest (to taste your beating heart)

by pinkmaggit



Category: Metallica
Genre: Blood and Gore, Choking, Falling In Love, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pining, Tender Sex, Werewolves, Yearning, but like. super vanilla, etc. - Freeform, he does not get that peace and quiet, he gets a werewolf boyfriend instead, jason covered in blood is just -chefs kiss-, jason gets fucked uuuuppppp, kirk learns to like the outdoors (mostly), kirk's a writer who needs some peace and quiet, northwest coast small towns hiding something, with the help of his jock werewolf boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25716127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkmaggit/pseuds/pinkmaggit
Summary: The woods are dark, thick with foliage and the interweaving masses of tree trunks. Far above, the moon shines a watery-yellow, full and round between the trees, stars twinkling in the velvet-black sky. There's nothing there.And yet, it feels as if something's watching him.Kirk shivers, closing the door.
Relationships: Kirk Hammett/Jason Newsted
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	drag my teeth across your chest (to taste your beating heart)

**Author's Note:**

> GIVE! KIRK! A! MONSTER! BOYFRIEND!
> 
> so,,, *checks notes* monsterfucking.
> 
> this is, like, super self-indulgent oops ahaha :'~) but also jason is so under appreciated and if i have to fix this myself i WILL 
> 
> content warning for a bit of blood/gore/violence, it's not super graphic but just in case
> 
> anyways, kirk's a writer, jason's a barista who's also a werewolf, they fall in love.
> 
> set around '89

“Shit!”

The ceramic mug slips from between Kirk’s fingers, crashing to the floor and busting apart into chunky shards that spray across the hardwood. Kirk sighs, grabbing the broom and pan from the closet and sweeping up the kitchen.

 _Fuck, that was my best mug,_ he gripes, dumping the dustpan into the trash before pouring himself a new cup of coffee and opening the curtains further, taking in the view and sliding the windowpane open to enjoy the crisp mountain air.

Taking a peek in his fridge confirms that his groceries are running low. Kirk frowns, scanning over the sad array of a half-finished bottle of ketchup, some wilted lettuce, and a carton of eggs that, upon further investigation, are actually empty. _Fuck_ , he’s been so busy lately he keeps forgetting to buy more food. 

Kirk grabs his leather jacket off the coat hangers and slides on his dirty cons, locking the door behind him and grabbing his shitty bike leaning against the cabin before taking off down the dirt path back to the town.

Hopefully he can make it before all the fresh bread is sold out this time.

────

So Kirk had rented a cabin in a small town in Oregon at the end of February.

The decision had come at the recommendation of his agent, Lars, who’d known that Kirk had been looking for somewhere secluded and quiet to continue work on his next draft, a third horror novel that’s been in the works for months. He's been writing for the past few years, mostly horror novels: turns out his Arts degree really could pay the bills. Lately, though, he'd gotten stuck, unsure of what even to write about, turning over the same tired ideas in his mind constantly, all of his drafts ending up in the garbage can.

Kirk was pretty sure he just had, like, the world’s worst case of burnout.

Lars had nodded sympathetically when Kirk had told him of his trouble, and he'd recommended the town based on a friend’s experience twenty years ago, gushing about the picturesque land around the town and the wildlife and how the fresh mountain air was conducive to the flow of ideas.

Kirk wasn’t really an outdoorsy person, but it _did_ sound pretty nice, and if it got him away from the constant noise and rush of San Francisco he’d consider it an accomplishment anyways.

He’d had to stop for directions three times on the way there, the ones given to him by Lars woefully incomplete. Kirk had eventually ended up forty miles west of the turnoff to the town before he’d asked some poor lady at a quaint gas station for help: he’d bought himself a coke for the way back. 

By the time he’d pulled into the tiny town, instant relief had hit him. The dirt roads nearby had nearly taken out his piece of shit of car: he’d been certain his muffler had gotten knocked clean off when he’d hit a particularly gnarly pothole. 

The town was all worn-down storefronts and mossy houses, old rusted-out cars parked on grassy driveways with their wheels sunken into the mud. Far above him, trees stretched towards the sky, towering douglas fir and thick redwoods, sheltering and silent. On the horizon, mountains carved through thick, heavy clouds. 

The cabin he’d rented was slightly out from the town. It was, Kirk had thought with surprise, far nicer and a hell of a lot more modern than he had expected. While most of the furnishing was thick, knotty pine and the walls were all panelled with wood, it had fresh running water and most standard appliances, save for a little cast-iron stove in the corner. Those were mostly secondary concerns, however, as it had an incredible amount of room for him to sit and write.

By the end of the second week, though, Kirk’s generally settled into a routine.

He’ll wake up around eight, making breakfast before sitting at the table to write, usually for a good two or three hours. Then he’ll head into town, bundling up in his heavy jean jacket to stay warm in the foggy mornings, setting out down the dirt path on his rickety bicycle. He’ll usually grab some coffee and fresh bread from the bakery before heading back to his cabin, where he’ll read and play some guitar and write more before bed. 

It's idyllic, almost. Honestly? It's grown on Kirk. It's become a place he could even see himself living in, a permanent sort of vacation spot. 

Until he finds the claw marks gouged in his back porch.

────

There’s a noise outside.

Kirk wakes up and everything feels _off._ He looks at the alarm on his nightstand: it’s nearly three in the morning.

There’s another sharp crack, a _growl_ , deep and rough, a creak, the sound of something splintering.

Kirk slowly crawls from the bed, creeps down the stairs.

It's as if someone came into his house and moved everything two inches to the left. It throws him off, makes him uneasy, although he's not sure why his skin seems to prickle when he descends the stairs, why the hairs on the back of his neck seem to stand on end as he approaches the back door. 

When he turns the knob, there's a sharp flash in his nerves, a _nodontrunrunawayNOW_ and he flinches back as if burned. He takes a moment, steels himself, lets out a heavy breath. 

He understands as soon as he opens the door.

His back porch looks as if someone's taken an axe to it. The wood’s splintered, planks torn up, thick gouges through the steps and over the railings. The dirt in his backyard has been tossed up, the heady scent of wet earth permeating his senses. Kirk gingerly runs a finger over the edge of a broken section, swallowing as he feels the fear rise up in his throat.

He belatedly wishes he'd brought something to defend himself with, finds himself thinking of the butcher’s knife he knows is in the wooden rack on his kitchen counter. 

Kirk gazes out at the forest, only meters from his house.

The woods are dark, thick with foliage and the interweaving masses of tree trunks. Far above, the moon shines a watery-yellow, full and round between the trees, stars twinkling in the velvet-black sky. There's nothing there.

And yet, it feels as if something's _watching_ him. 

Kirk shivers, closing the door. 

────

Kirk leans his bike up against the storefront of the cafe, grabbing his bag before ducking inside.

He'd had to get out, get away from his house, nerves making it impossible to focus on anything but the destruction of his porch and backyard. And, although Kirk doesn't want to admit it, he feels a lot safer in town where there's more people around.

It's still early when he arrives, not even the townsfolk in yet for their daily coffee. The bells on the door chime as Kirk enters, letting the door bump gently against his shoulder.

There's a shout from the back. “One second!” 

Kirk seats himself at the bar on a wrinkled vinyl stool, unpacking his notebook and pen, twirling it idly as he thinks over what to write. Gazing around the cafe, he takes in the worn-out armchairs, the rickety bookshelf stacked with old novels, the heavy scent of coffee and fresh bread.

“Hey man, sorry, I'll just put these away and I’ll be right there.” 

Kirk turns. There's a guy his age, wearing a thick flannel, heavy carpenters jeans and beat-up sneakers, hauling in bags of flour through the back doors. He smiles, tossing Kirk a wave with a huge, crooked smile, and Kirk knows he's a goner. Look, it's not his fault he likes cute guys who look like stoners, okay? Kirk fiddles with his notebook, hoping he isn't spotted staring. The guy must finish up what he's doing as he slides in behind the bar, tying up a green apron behind his back.

“Sorry, dude, usually I’m faster putting those away but I slept in this morning,” he laughs, washing his hands in the sink, “What can I get you?” 

Kirk smiles, “Cafe latte cool?”

The guy smiles back, nodding as he bounces over to the bags of coffee grounds, “Sure thing, man. Wait, you're the writer who's visiting, right? What's your name, if me asking is cool?”

Kirk nods, slightly surprised.

“I'm Kirk,” he murmurs, “You? And how'd you know?”

“I’m Jason,” the guy says, scrubbing down his measuring cup, “And, I mean, it's not like we get a lot of visitors out here anyways, except for artists intermittently.” 

_Oh._ Well, duh.

Jason shrugs, “You guys are kinda the only interesting people around,” he smirks, “I mean, no offence to my neighbours, but they're not people I'd consider to be, like, exciting. At all.”

Kirk laughs. 

As Jason fiddles with the milk steamer, he suddenly looks up at Kirk. 

“Oh hey, sorry to ask, but would you mind putting on the radio? I totally forgot, it's just in the corner behind you.”

Kirk slides off his stool, wandering over to where an old red tape deck is nestled in on the worn bookshelf, a copy of the Stand and the Metamorphosis leaning against it. Kirk switches it on, spinning the knob until he lands on a station halfway through Bob Dylan. When he comes back to the counter, Jason gently sets a heavy green mug beside his notebook, a thick layer of steamed milk nearly spilling over the lip. 

“I figured you'd have good taste in music, what with the whole black outfit and the shirt,” Jason smiles, gesturing to Kirk's faded _Sisters of Mercy_ tee.

Kirk feels himself turn pink slightly, bringing his mug up gingerly to his lips to distract himself. He takes a slow sip, savouring the burn across his lips and the sweet, strong tang across his tongue. _Fuck_ , that's a good latte.

Jason laughs, “Coffee pot not working out at your cabin?”

 _Oh shit_ , he'd said that aloud.

“I mean,” Kirk says, “I only know how to make instant. So like, this is fucking heavenly in comparison.”

They chat as the morning goes by, savouring the quiet. Jason gets pulled aside every so often by other patrons, brewing a pot of black coffee for some seniors who sit by the window and various cups to go for lumberyard workers and fishermen down at the docks. Kirk learns more about Jason, about how he's lived in this town for years and mostly fills his time hiking and camping, and in turn Kirk talks about his writing in an introductory sense, mostly focusing on his latest woes.

“Man, so the whole backyard got torn up?” Jason’s eyebrows raise, glancing up at Kirk as he finishes putting the lid on a flat white.

Kirk nods, taking a sip from his coffee, “And my porch, too. It was fucking wild.”

Jason frowns, wiping down his counter, “Jesus, it must’ve been a bear or something. That’s crazy.” He throws the washcloth into a bin towards the back. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll bring some lumber over and we can fix it.”

Kirk nearly chokes on his drink.

“Really? You’d-are you sure?” He stutters, setting his mug down, “Do you even have time for that?”

Jason laughs, “‘Course, dude. It happens to everyone around here, it’s no big deal. What day do you think you’ll be free?”

Kirk hums, thinking over his mental schedule. _Technically_ he’s free any day, but it might be good to give himself some time so he can straighten up the cabin. He doesn't want Jason to think he’s a slob.

“Uh, is Friday cool, ten o’clock?” 

Jason nods, “Sure, you got any tools?”

Kirk gestures to himself, “You think I’m a handy-man type?”

Jason just giggles, smile dimpling. 

“Alright then, I’ll bring my stuff over. We’ll get it fixed up in no time, dude.” 

Kirk smiles, thanking Jason and telling him the address as he packs up to leave. He tosses a wave as he pushes the door open and Jason waves back. Kirk feels his face go pink slightly as he steps out of the cafe, a gentle drizzle splattering against the sidewalks.

He’s just gonna blame it on the cold.

────

“So, how’s the hermit lifestyle treating you?”

Kirk rolls his eyes, readjusting the cheap plastic handset against his shoulder as he stirs the pot of spaghetti.

“It’s fine,” He sighs, “Although I haven’t been getting a lot done yet.”

Cliff laughs on the other end of the phone, voice slightly tinny from the wires.

“The retreat not quite what you thought it would be?” Cliff questions, voice a little more serious this time.

Kirk shrugs, before he remembers that Cliff can't see him.

“Well,” he starts, “It's definitely quiet, which is what I wanted. But I’ve only met like, one person here who's actually wanted to talk to me ‘cause the rest are either old people or lumberjacks.”

Cliff snorts.

“So what you're saying is they aren't exactly into the arts much?” 

Kirk scoffs, “Dude, I’m pretty sure most of them have only ever read the paper or the Farmer’s Almanac,” he sniffs, pausing to strain his pot of spaghetti.

Cliff laughs. On the other end, Kirk can hear the spark of a lighter.

“Man, are you gonna come back soon, then?”

Kirk sighs. 

“I dunno, you know? Like, I really want to be able to see if I can get a little more done before I just call it quits.”

Cliff hums. “Well, just know we all miss you back at home.”

Kirk nods, choking back a sigh. Him and Cliff go way back: they were friends in high school, and the two of them both went on to pursue English majors, although Cliff minored in music and Kirk minored in art. Cliff has always been supportive of his dream of writing, and Kirk finds himself wishing, not for the first time, that he wasn't so lonely out here.

“‘Course,” Kirk murmurs, “Tell everyone I said hi.”

“Will do. Don't get, like, eaten by something on your nature trip, man.” 

Kirk giggles.

────

Jason comes over at ten on Friday as promised, parking his muddy pickup truck on Kirk's driveway. It’s cooler than Kirk thought it would be, the two of them bundled up in heavy jackets, breaths misting in the air. Jason's wearing some quilted duffle coat, hands tucked in his pockets as Kirk lets him through the gate.

Jason whistles when he sees Kirk’s backyard.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, “Jesus, this is worse than I thought. And you didn’t see what caused it?”

Kirk shakes his head.

Jason sighs, “Yikes. Well, let’s get started patching in the porch, we can worry about the rest after that.”

The morning goes by, Jason cutting away the broken, splintered mess left behind and sawing new pieces to fit within. Kirk mostly helps with hammering- look, he hasn't had a lot of practice using tools, okay?- holding the nails in place as Jason lines everything up. They rake up the backyard, Jason running back to his house for grass seed, the two of them resowing the dirt patches. 

They take a break for lunch. Kirk throws a couple sandwiches together, fried eggs and cheese and tomatoes on multigrain bagels, and brings out a six-pack of Budweiser to where they’ve decided to sit in the grass. The cool bite of dew seeps through his jeans, chill and sharp against his skin.

Jason takes the offered sandwich with a groan, “Fuck, I’m so hungry, thanks Kirk.” 

Kirk passes him the bottle opener and they both take a long sip, savouring the cool, bitter taste. 

“Hey,” Jason says, once they've finished the sandwiches and are nursing their second beers, “What are you writing, anyways?” 

“Um,” Kirk stutters, picking at the label of his bottle. He's never been great at talking about what he does, age-old embarrassment always resurfacing whenever someone shows any interest in his work. “Uh, I write horror novels.”

Jason's eyebrows jump. “Really? Man, not what I expected. That's so cool though, do you write more of the old-horror or the more psychological, gore-y stuff?”

Kirk feels his nerves dissipate. Usually when people ask they do it out of obligation: Kirk's been through enough press junkets and interviews to be bored of that question, anyways, but he can tell that Jason's genuinely interested, and it makes him instantly relax and resolve to open up. 

“Ah, I usually write more about monsters, but I like working in some psychological stuff. But like, what were you expecting?”

Jason shrugs, “Honestly? I got a lot of beat-poetry vibes from you. Must just be the fact that all your clothes are black.”

Kirk feels himself turn pink.

“Hey man,” he grumbles, “at least my wardrobe isn't just jeans and flannel shirts.”

Jason laughs.

“You live up on the west coast long enough, it kinda becomes a whole thing,” Jason smiles, taking a final sip from his bottle and licking away the stray drops of beer. “Cool, you wanna finish up the rest of the porch?”

They finish as the sun begins to set, the night cooling down as they nail in the last boards and cut away the remaining bits of damage. Jason drives back into town as the moon begins to climb into the sky, shouting a _good night!_ as he peels out of Kirk's driveway and heads off down the dirt road. 

Kirk watches him go, stays in the doorway until the reddish-orange glow of his headlights disappear in the distance.

────

The weeks pass.

Kirk gets more work done on his draft, blocking out several new chapters and revamping his story line. He fleshes out his main characters in a spare journal, pondering over the sort of twists he wants to include, how to give it that essential, unnerving touch.

He visits Jason at the cafe often, usually needing a break from writing. And like, he really shouldn't be spending a lot of money, but he can't go back to drinking shitty instant coffee, not after he's had it so good.

And, _maybe_ , he also likes going back to see Jason. Maybe.

They're talking one night, Jason working the closing shift, Kirk feeling restless and unable to focus on his draft. Somehow the conversation turns to the outdoors, and Kirk has to admit that he hasn't really explored anywhere around the town yet.

“Really?” Jason gasps, “why not?”

Kirk just shrugs his shoulders half-heartedly. “I mean,” he grimaces, “I've never really been an outdoorsy person? Like, I kinda hate the idea of sleeping out in the dirt.” 

Jason shakes his head. “Man, we gotta change that. You and me, we’re going hiking over the weekend, it'll be great.”

So Kirk relents. They pack up their bags on the Saturday when Jason’s off work, Jason throwing lunch together and Kirk grabbing his camera and the two of them setting off early in the morning. Kirk doesn't even have hiking boots, so Jason lends him an old pair: they’re scuffed and covered in dried mud, and Kirk wrinkles his nose slightly as Jason laughs. 

Jason leads him along a quiet path at the bottom of the mountainside. They meander through redwoods that stretch far into the cloudy sky, climbing up rocky inclines and winding up the dirt path, wet and misty in the morning air. Jason points out different species of flowers and berries, spotting all sorts of wildlife as they hike so Kirk can get a good picture with his polaroid. Kirk nearly eats shit a couple times, stumbling over tree roots, but Jason's there to catch him, arms wrapping around his waist to steady him. 

“We're almost there,” Jason smiles, waiting as Kirk catches his breath. Between two leaning pines covered in moss, Kirk can see the town, far below them and nestled into a nearly endless spread of trees, green and rolling as the sun rises. 

True to his word, it's only a short incline before they make it. 

“Oh, whoa,” Kirk gasps, setting his backpack down and stretching. There's a gorgeous little lake, all turquoise and clear, nestled in a copse of fir trees. As Kirk wanders closer, he sees the way the water sparkles in the sunlight, the smooth stones beneath his feet glimmering, the gentle glide of fish. 

Jason grins, “Right? Told you it would be good.” 

Kirk takes out his camera, snapping a few shots here and there, ones of the fish and the lake and the light that wavers between the trees. He takes one of Jason as they eat, all blurry and close-up, his huge dimpled smile shining through the camera.

It becomes Kirk’s favourite picture.

────

He's washing up in the kitchen when he sees it.

Kirk scrubs over a plate gently, drying it with a tea towel before sliding it into the cupboard with a gentle clink before reaching to grab another from the water-filled sink.

He looks up, staring out his window, and drops the plate with a clatter.

There, in between the trees, unmistakably so, are a pair of eyes. They're blue, bright, glowing and menacing, _watching_ him. They're the eyes of a predator, huge in the black night. 

Kirk feels frozen to the spot. His heart pounds against his ribcage. 

He reaches for the phone. The blue eyes stare, unblinking, unwavering.

Kirk’s hand is shaky, wavering as he reaches out, and he knocks the headset off the hanger, the phone clattering to the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” he curses, stooping to grab the phone and popping back up, the plastic sweaty in his hands.

The eyes are gone. 

Kirk blinks, scans the tree line. There's nothing, anymore. 

He swallows and puts the phone back on the hanger with a click.

────

Cliff calls him on a Monday morning.

“So, the publishing company’s up my ass about it ‘cause my fucking agent sent _the wrong copy_ , and now my agent’s giving me hell even though I told them which was the right one? Like, christ, this isn't my fault.” Cliff groans.

“Ugh, that fucking sucks, man,” Kirk nods, circling across his draft with a red pen, making notes in the margins for later.

Cliff sighs, “What a shitshow. Whatever, it’ll get sorted. But what’s up with you?”

“Huh?” 

“Like, you seem distracted, dude,” Cliff murmurs. There’s rustling on the other end, the sound of papers shifting.

Kirk shrugs, “Just looking through my draft, feeling stuck, you know.” 

He can feel Cliff’s frown through the phone. “No, man, it’s like something else is bothering you.” 

Chewing his lip, Kirk wonders how to break it to Cliff. Like, it’s probably gonna sound like he’s fucking _paranoid_ , but it makes his skin crawl. 

“Like, okay,” Kirk starts, “This might sound crazy, but I think there’s something… watching me? Like, I woke up in the middle of the night, and my porch and backyard was all torn up, like-like someone took an axe, and destroyed the _shit_ out of it. And then the other night, I was doing the dishes, and there were-there were these bright blue eyes, watching me? Like, Cliff, I don’t know what to think. Am I just fucking crazy?”

“Like, destroyed more than you would think an animal was capable of?” Kirk can hear the disbelief in Cliff’s voice, and Kirk nods rapidly against the handset, creating an accidental flurry of crackling on Cliff’s end.

“Yes! Cliff, I’m serious- it was, it was fucking _crazy_. I would never think an animal could do that. And the eyes, too, like- they didn’t seem _real_.”

Cliff hums, “Maybe there's some monster out there. Maybe you’re gonna become an ameteur cryptid hunter.”

That startles a laugh out of him. Kirk snorts, “In your dreams, dude. I’m probably just overreacting, right?”

Cliff hums, “Probably. I’m gonna guess it was only a hungry bear. Just be careful, alright?”

Kirk nods, “Of course.”

Turns out that promise is harder to keep than expected.

────

Jason takes him canoeing. 

It’s an ordeal to even get Kirk in the boat, his legs wobbly and unsteady, and he nearly ends up falling into the water. Then Jason has to teach him how to paddle, and Kirk spends more time initially spraying water back at Jason than he actually does helping them move forwards.

But once he’s seated, Jason guiding them along through the river, Kirk relaxes. He finds himself enjoying the way the water rushes past his fingertips, salmon jumping over the rocks, the fresh, crisp air, so much better than he thought it would be.

“ _The love that I have chosen I'll therewith be content, and the salt sea shall be frozen before that I repent_ ,” Jason’s voice is raspy, quiet, hardly heard over the rushing water and the call of birds in the distance.

Kirk turns. “What are you singing?” He questions, focusing on the way Jason’s lips move. 

Jason shrugs, “Some old song a friend taught me,” He smiles, carefully steering the canoe around the sharp jut of a rock. 

Kirk hums. “It sounds nice,” He says, turning around so Jason can’t see him blush, but he doesn’t miss the way Jason’s smile gets bigger.

_But there's three score of them is sunk and three score dead at sea_

_And the lowlands of Holland has twined my love and me._

Jason whistles along, calling with the birds. The sun’s begun to set, the warmth of the day fading. Kirk shivers, tucking his hands further into the pockets of his jacket. 

“Oh, shit, you’re cold,” Jason says, and Kirk turns once he hears rustling, “Here, put my coat on.”

Kirk shakes his head, “I-I couldn’t, I’m not that cold, you need it-”

Jason cuts him off, “I’m warm, Kirk, it’s okay. It’s no good if you get sick.” And he leans over, draping his thick corduroy coat over Kirk’s shoulders. 

Kirk nods, murmurs, “Thank you,” feeling the embarrassment burning under his cheeks. Jason just grins, whistling as he paddles. Kirk smushes his nose into the sherpa collar, taking in the smell of Jason’s cologne, something sweet and earthy. 

They meander down the river, Jason eventually steering them towards an outcropping of the shore and grounding the canoe. He jumps out, spraying water everywhere as he pulls the canoe in, and Kirk laughs as it jerks forwards onto the dirt and he nearly falls into the bottom.

“I parked over here, so we can take the canoe back,” Jason says, helping Kirk out. They heave the canoe onto the top of Jason’s pickup truck, strapping it on with bungee cords. Jason drives him home, and then Kirk makes him stay for dinner as pay back. He makes chili, stirring the pot as Jason helps cut vegetables. It strikes him, suddenly, how _domestic_ it is. What scares him most, though, is how he wants _more_.

He’s just- not gonna acknowledge those feelings. 

After dinner, Kirk shows Jason some of his writing. Jason's enthralled, reading over his work quietly, mouthing along as he gently shuffles through the pages of Kirk's draft. 

“Fuck, Kirk, this is really good.”

“R-really?” Kirk stutters. He knows he's blushing, but like, compliments always throw him for a loop.

“Seriously, I'm excited to see where it goes. If you don't mind me reading more later, I'd love to.” Jason smiles, face so open and honest. _Jesus_ , Kirk’s got it bad. 

Jason's been nothing but sweet to him ever since he got here, and Kirk realizes that he _likes_ Jason, the fact that Jason's always there to show him the beauty of the forests around them, brings him coffee when he knows Kirk's working on his writing, is always happy to see him. He's become such an integral part of Kirk's life, and Kirk knows his feelings run deep.

The clarity is frightening and freeing, realizing that he's in love. He swallows, composing himself.

Kirk nods, “Sure, dude. Hope you don’t mind coffee stains.”

Jason laughs.

────

So maybe going for a walk late in the evening wasn’t the best idea.

But like, it’s an uncharacteristically warm April night, Kirk’s tired of staring at paper, and he just needs to move around, refresh his brain.

The forest’s quiet around him, the gentle rustle of trees in the breeze. In the distance, a deer raises its head, watching him before bounding away into the gloom. Kirk steps over a molding log, stops to look at the mushrooms nestled along the top edge. They’re white, but they’ve got these freaky, bulbous growths, spotty and red like blood.

“That’s so fucking sick,” Kirk whispers, pausing to take a photo with his polaroid. 

Belatedly, he realizes the forest’s gone dead silent. There’s no chatter of squirrels, no birds calling. He straightens, turning to look behind his back.

His camera hits the ground with a thud.

Right across the clearing, there’s a _wolf_. Kirk feels a whimper die in his throat. It’s massive, all reddish-brown fur and huge teeth and strong claws, mouth open in a growl, spit dripping down from its jaw. It's at least twice as tall as him, reared up on its hind legs, thick fur bristling as it seems to size him up, snout twitching as it sniffs the air. 

But what strikes him the most are its blue eyes, the same ones he saw last month. 

Kirk steps backwards, legs shaky. The creature doesn’t move, just watches him, eyes burning right through him. He bends and grabs his camera, keeping his movements slow. 

He feels the fear bubble up his throat, sluggish and cool. His heart’s dropped into his stomach, heavy in his gut, and he's trying not to panic, but he can feel the terror that’s clawing its way through his veins, a white-hot urge to _runrunrun._

The wolf snaps its jaws at him, not even lunging forwards. Kirk feels his soul leave his body all the same.

Kirk screams, scrambling over his own feet in his desperation to get out of the clearing. Looking over his shoulder, he can still see its eyes, glowing in the dark. 

He doesn’t sleep that night.

────

Jason’s not working at the cafe the next morning, the lady at the counter shaking her head when he asks.

Kirk knows he’s jittery. He stills feels the phantom terror of those blue eyes on his back, but _so help him_ , he cannot shake the memory of the way the wolf had loomed in the darkness, the fear of those awful teeth clashing shut. He needs someone to confide in, but Jason's apparently called in and Kirk knows Cliff’s busy, so he needs something else to occupy his mind, make him _forget._

He goes to the tiny library instead. It’s mostly full of archival material, but he pours through the shelves, running his fingers over the titles, searching and searching.

It takes him most of the morning, but he finally finds something. He curls up on his knees on the grungy carpet, tucked against the heavy bookshelves, finger running along the words.

_‘...typically considered to be a curse, Lycanthropy is an affliction transmitted through the saliva via bite from an afflicted specimen…’_

_‘…due to the presence of a full moon, individuals afflicted by this condition are notably powerful and blood-thirsty, and should not be approached when…’_

_‘...drawn to mountainous, coastal regions with coniferous growth…’_

He slams the book closed, fear churning in his gut.

────

Kirk calls Cliff, this time.

“I know I’m not hallucinating,” he prefaces, voice shaky, “But I don’t have any good explanation for it. I saw- _this is fucking crazy!-_ ” he stutters, fingers playing restlessly with his pen.

“Jesus, Kirk, what happened?” Cliff asks, his voice concerned, “Did you get hurt?”

Kirk shakes his head, “No, no, I- Cliff, I saw a _werewolf_ ,” he cries, desperate for Cliff to believe him. “I swear, Cliff, I-I did.”

There’s dead silence on the line.

“Did you- did you get a photo of it?” Cliff’s voice is hushed. 

Kirk swallows. “I dropped my camera- I don’t, I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it since.”

“See,” Cliff murmurs, “You never know.”

Kirk sets the phone down, digs in his bag by the front door for his camera. He turns it, right side up. There’s the white band of a developed photograph, jammed in the top with dirt wedged in the slot.

“No fucking way,” Kirk gasps, finger clearing away the moist earth, “No fucking way, no fucking way.” He pulls the photo free. It’s all there: dark fur, snarling at the camera, eyes burning icy-blue, slightly blurred from the angle.

“Cliff, Cliff, I got a picture,” He laughs, giddily, nearly shouting through the phone. “I got it, somehow, it must’ve fallen on the button and taken it, holy shit!”

“What?” Cliff gasps, “You got it? Fuck, send me a picture in the mail, dude. I gotta see this.”

Kirk grabs his camera, takes a polaroid of the original and sets it on his desk to develop.

“Holy fuck, okay, I’m gonna mail this to you tomorrow,” Kirk says, “I don’t know how slow the post is out here, but it’ll come.”

Cliff laughs, on the other side. “Jesus, of course the horror fanatic sees a werewolf.”

Kirk giggles, carefully writing out Cliff’s address on an envelope, sliding the finished picture inside and sealing it with tape.

“But, like,” Cliff sighs, voice serious, “Do the townsfolk know?” 

Kirk frowns.

“I-I have no clue,” he starts, “And, if they don’t, I really don't want to scare anybody.” He really doesn't want to start a panic. Or be seen as the crazy recluse if none of them believe him. 

Cliff seems to consider that. “Well, send me the picture and stay out of the woods, dude. You’ll know what to do.”

Kirk hangs up, Cliff’s words bouncing around in his head. 

_You’ll know what to do._

The scary part is, he really has no clue.

────

“So, I said, ‘What, so you want this to go?’ and the lady looked at me, as if _I_ was the moron, and said, ‘Of course not’, all snotty, right? And then-” Jason pauses, giggling wildly. It’s infectious, and Kirk finds himself laughing, too, unable to control himself. 

“Dude, dude- I gotta- you gotta finish the story!” Kirk laughs, waving his hand as Jason’s face goes all scrunchy and pink from giggling.

“Okay-okay, so like, she made me make the four cups of coffee, man! In our good mugs, and she took them! Hardly got like, two steps out the door before she dropped them, and then she got pissed at me!”

Kirk laughs and laughs.

Jason’s invited him over for dinner- lasagna, vegetarian, along with fresh salad and a bottle of red wine they split. He’s not even going to try to parse through the flood of emotions _that_ gives him: the fact that Jason cooked _for_ him, took the time to use one of Kirk’s recipes, even bought a _bottle of wine_ for the both of them.

Kirk’s well and truly fucked. 

Jason’s house is quiet, well-put-together, all sorts of hiking materials tucked in the closet next to skis and a mountain bike. There’s a huge turntable in the corner, crates of records stacked alongside; Kirk had looked through them while Jason cooked, finger running across _Tyranny and Mutilation, Electric Ladyland, Moving Pictures, Maggot Brain, Animals, Smiley Smile…_ it had gone on forever. The coffee table is covered in wrinkled paperbacks, and there’s band posters framed beside paintings on the wall that Kirk finds out Jason did himself.

Oh. So not only does he have great taste in music, but he’s also funny, thoughtful, _and_ talented. He hopes Jason picks up his subliminal messages, ‘cause Kirk’s sure his desire to climb Jason like a tree is being broadcasted into space at this point.

“Fuck, man, I don't miss customer service,” Kirk giggles, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Jason snickers, “Yeah, man, you did a full 180. Went from networking to being a full-time recluse.”

Kirk scoffs, slapping Jason's arm. Jason bursts into laughter.

Later, the two of them sitting on Jason’s porch nursing beers as the sun sets, Jason turns to Kirk.

“I'm glad I got to know you, Kirk. You're like, kind of the best thing here in a long time,” Jason murmurs, mouth quirked into the softest of smiles, and it makes Kirk's gut _flutter,_ his tongue tying itself into knots.

Turns out Jason's not done yet, though. “And, I dunno,” Jason says, cheeks turning pink, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “I like, totally get if you're not into me, but I really- I really like you, Kirk, and…”

Everything else fades to background noise. All Kirk can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, his heart hammering against his ribs. Jason likes him. Jason _likes_ him. _Holy shit holy shit holy shit Jason likes him, he's actually got a shot._ Kirk thinks he's gonna puke.

“...Kirk? Dude, you okay? Can you, like, say something?” Jason says, waving his hand in front of Kirk's face gently. His voice is all sheepish and embarrassed, and that's exactly what Kirk _doesn't_ want, because he likes Jason, so much.

“Like, I get if you don't feel the same, that's-”

Kirk leans forwards and smashes their mouths together.

It's garbage at first, the angle all wrong and Jason's mouth half-open, teeth clicking. Jason gasps against Kirk's lips and pulls him in, then, hands wrapped around his shoulders, and Kirk lets himself fall into Jason, lets himself fall headfirst into his feelings. Jason giggles against Kirk's lips, fingers smoothing gently across Kirk's cheek. Kirk feels himself smile, kissing Jason slowly. 

“Fuck, dude, you're so cute,” Jason murmurs, and Kirk's grin gets even bigger. He tucks his face into Jason's neck, feeling his cheeks heat further at the way Jason laughs, pulling him into a hug, the two of them collapsing backwards onto the porch.

Kirk raises up on his elbows: Jason's grinning up at him, smile all dopey and huge. _Fuck_ , Kirk's liked him ever since he saw him.

He leans in to kiss Jason again.

────

The phone rings downstairs.

Jason groans against him, shifting to pull the covers up further over their shoulders. 

Kirk's _so_ fucking comfy: there’s the gentle tap of rain against the windows and he’s warm where he's snuggled up against Jason underneath the heavy blankets. He's never getting out of bed again. 

Jason yawns. Kirk pushes himself further into Jason's arms, rubbing his cheek against the ratty fabric of Jason’s old _Black Sabbath_ shirt, feeling the way Jason's warmth leaches through.

The phone rings again.

“Mmm, fuck it,” Jason groans, “I’ll just tell them I’m sick.” 

Jason clambers out of bed and heads down the stairs: a minute later he's back in bed, pulling Kirk into him and falling asleep once again. 

────

The werewolf's in his backyard.

It sits there, gazing up at Kirk from where he's leaning out his bedroom window. Those blue eyes stare right through him, unblinking.

Kirk doesn't flinch. It's funny: he doesn't even feel _scared,_ this time. It feels, oddly enough, almost familiar. For some strange reason, he almost _trusts_ the werewolf, as if he can tell it’s not here to hurt him, only here to- check on him, maybe.

Eventually the werewolf stands, turns and heads toward the tree line, thick auburn fur rippling in the moonlight.

Before it disappears into the forest, it casts a glance back at Kirk.

────

So he’s got a boyfriend.

Fuck yeah.

He’s got a boyfriend who’s sweet and funny and knows how to cook and makes the best lattes _ever_ and looks cute in Kirk’s pajamas and smells fucking _amazing_. 

Jason takes him on hikes and they go canoeing and cook together, making soup and chopping vegetables. Jason shows him a hidden outlook far above the town, and they make out for an hour up there, letting the breeze ruffle their hair. Jason brings Kirk wildflowers, carefully trimmed and tied together with twine. Kirk steals Jason’s jackets and sweaters cause they’re so warm and cozy and they smell like Jason, so it’s kind of the best thing ever. Jason helps clean the house while Kirk writes, and then he reads over the drafts, circling the parts he loves. Sometimes Jason draws little hearts in the margins for Kirk, which, _fuck_ , he’s not twelve years old but he might as well be, ‘cause he always blushes like a moron when he sees that.

God, he loves his jock boyfriend, even if Jason wakes him up at four in the morning sometimes to go on a hike to see the sunrise _c_ _ause it’ll be romantic, Kirk, come on!_

And, like, the sex is kinda amazing, too. 

So it’s fucking great. 

But his subconscious begins to connect the dots between little things.

For one, there’s the fact that Jason always smells like the outdoors, although Kirk initially figured it was because he was always out in the forest. Or the way he’ll often work night shifts, which Kirk had initially chalked up to his natural excess of energy. Or the slight bags under his eyes, purple under the right light, or the subtle taste of iron to his kisses, or the way he’ll crash for days, sometimes, dead to the world.

Suddenly, the idea that he’d romanced a werewolf wasn’t entirely far-fetched, at least in Kirk’s mind. 

He thinks back on the dates where Jason would disappear at night, comparing them with the calendar. Kirk notices a distinct parallel with nights where there had been a full moon- not all nights, but enough for it to be recognizable.

So Kirk resolves to confront Jason about it, turning over how he’ll phrase the question in his mind. 

_Hey, is there something… not-quite-human about you?_

_I’ve noticed you disappear on nights of the full moon, what's up with that?_

He’s ready to find out for himself, to prove his suspicions correct.

Until he's not.

────

“Jason? You home?” Kirk calls, throwing his bag down by the door of the cabin and toeing off his shoes. The lights are on, the bedroom door half open. Upon further investigation Kirk finds the living room and bedroom empty, the cabin silent. 

“Jase?”

He looks out the kitchen window, staring into the backyard and noticing a dark smear in the grass. _What the fuck?_ He closes the back door behind himself slowly. Even from the porch, it’s unmistakable. Kirk swallows, throat dry. His stomach churns, unease making him nauseous as he steps around, picking his way to the edge of the forest.

“Jason? You out here?” Kirk starts, slowly following the dirt trail. Here and there, deep claw marks are sunk into the earth, splatters of blood across foliage and stones.

Kirk feels the way unease crawls up his throat. He's jittery, eyes nervously flicking from side to side as he walks, terrified of the worst case scenario. _Oh god what if he got hurt what if there's a bear I didn't even bring anything shit shit shit..._

“Jase?” He calls, picking his way through a copse of trees, “Seriously, are you okay? Where are you?”

He pushes his way past a thicket of bushes, spilling out into a clearing. Kirk freezes.

Jason’s in the grass, slumped over beside- _something_. It’s a mess of pink and red. There’s the coils of intestines and the mottled purpley-red of organs and the sharp jut of bone, shattered from brute force. It’s stark against the grass, a grotesque spray outwards. Jason’s covered in blood, all over his face and clothes. His eyes are unfocused, drunk, wavering as he rolls over to look up at Kirk.

The silence is absolute: the two of them stare at each other, Kirk in his Dracula t-shirt and dirty cons, Jason coated in blood and sprawled in the dirt. Jason’s shirt is stained, a rusty red blossom across the creamy stitching. Kirk looks at the clearing: the grass is torn up, thick claw marks gouged through the dirt, pine trees splintered and broken. There’s smears of blood trailing out of the forest, splotchy and dark.

“What is- what was that?” 

Kirk hears how weak his voice has become, the dread of realization causing him to stutter over his words. It seems to snap Jason out of his haze, though, eyes widening in horror before he winces. 

“It’s not what it looks like.”

Kirk just nods, “Oh, okay, so that’s not a murder scene. Right!” He squeaks, cringing at the ooze of blood down Jason’s chin, the way it snakes in a thick rivulet down the column of his throat. 

Jason flinches, eyes dilating and re-focusing at the flicker of light through the trees. Belatedly, Kirk realizes that he’s _scared,_ utterly horrified that Kirk’s found him like this, disoriented and covered in blood.

Suddenly, it all makes sense.

“Hey, it’s-it’s okay,” Kirk whispers, holding his hands out gently and slowly sinking to his knees, trying to ignore the warmth that seeps through his jeans as he shuffles forwards, only focused on Jason’s face. “It’s alright, let’s get you inside, okay?”

It seems like it takes Jason a moment to realize where he is, who _Kirk_ is, but he eventually pulls himself up, leaning into Kirk's hands and slouching against him.

Helping Jason to his feet is a task in itself. He’s out of it, eyes glazed over, limbs all clumsy. Jason's heavy against Kirk’s side, sluggish as Kirk helps him back to the cabin and up the stairs to the bathroom, crumpled into himself. Kirk undresses him while the bathtub fills, trying not to gag at the thick blood that’s seeped through the cotton of Jason’s _Thin Lizzy_ tee, ripped to shreds. 

Kirk chucks it into the trash.

Once the tub’s full Kirk helps Jason slide in. He’s almost moving in slow-motion, slipping under the water. His eyes are still hazy. Kirk grabs a washcloth, wetting it and pouring soap over it before beginning to rhythmically wipe away the blood across Jason’s face which has become sticky and dark. The water turns pink. Kirk runs the soapy washcloth over Jason’s arms, over his back, cupping his hands together and gathering the warm water up before letting it run through Jason’s hair, all thick and curly in his eyes.

“Thanks, Kirk,” Jason whispers, voice raspy.

Kirk internally breathes a sigh of relief. “Of course, you’re okay,” he murmurs, gently smoothing across Jason’s shoulders. “Sorry I freaked out.”

Jason shakes his head, croaking out _don’t worry about it._

Kirk worries his lip, wondering how best to approach the subject. Eventually, he figures that he might have to be blunt. 

“You’re a werewolf, aren’t you,” Kirk murmurs, trying to control the shake of his voice as best he can. It’s strange: he knows Jason, _loves_ Jason, and yet Kirk can sense something stronger, _darker_ , under Jason’s skin now, a faint presence that screams of blood and dirt and the wilderness, clawing up and out of his bones. 

It scares him and intrigues him, all at once. 

Jason goes rigid under his fingers, fear and stress pulling him taut like a string. Kirk gently rubs his hands across Jason’s shoulders, trying to get him to relax. Jason nods, jerkily, swallowing slowly.

“I- I’m sorry, Kirk. I should’ve told you, I was just- so scared that you- that you’d _leave-_ ” Jason’s voice breaks, his shoulders heaving on a shuddery breath, and God, Kirk feels _awful_ , hates that Jason’s upset.

“Hey, hey,” Kirk whispers, shifting so he can see Jason’s face. His eyes are watery and he’s drawn into himself, ashamed and regretful. “Never. I’d- I’d _never_ , Jason. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I-I get it, I do.”

Jason looks up, disbelief written over his face, “And you- don’t care?”

Kirk shakes his head, pulling Jason into him. “Of course not,” He mumbles, smoothing a hand along Jason’s spine, “I love you. God, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.” He kisses the side of Jason’s head when Jason tucks his nose against Kirk's throat, breath hitching quietly. “Besides,” Kirk whispers, “You being a werewolf is pretty hot.”

Jason laughs wetly.

Later, once he’s cleaned up and dry, Jason puts on his duffel coat and takes a shovel into the forest. He comes back smelling like wet earth. Kirk doesn’t ask about where he’s gone.

That night, Kirk rides Jason, slow and soft. Jason's hands rest on his hips, reverent as he gazes upwards, face flushed pink. Kirk moans, grinding down, only focused on _Jason:_ Jason kissing him, sweet and gentle and so _loving_.

The two of them curl up under the covers together afterwards, Jason’s finger gently trailing along Kirk’s hip. Kirk cups Jason’s cheek, kissing him gently, trying to say everything he means in the slow slide of his lips over Jason’s. 

────

“So, like, not to pressure you, or anything, but it's been three months since I've heard from you, Hammett.” 

Kirk winces. He keeps forgetting to call Lars and update him on his progress. 

“Well,” he says, voice wavering, “I'm almost three quarters done. I'm just pulling it all together, but I can't see it taking that much more time.”

Lars hums, “That's good, that's really good. Seems like you're on track, so I don't have anything to worry about. Should I contact James about cover art, or is now a little premature, yeah?”

Kirk frowns, “Mm, maybe let him know I’ve got something coming to a close. There's still lots of time, though, so don't worry him, or anything. I’ll- I’ll get in contact with him, discuss what I have in mind.”

“Gotcha,” Lars clicks his tongue, and Kirk can hear the shuffle of papers as Lars writes everything down, “Have you gotten to explore around the town, at least a bit?”

Kirk nods, “Yeah, I've gone out and about every so often. It's gorgeous.”

Kirk can sense Lars’ smarmy grin through the phone.

“So obviously the town was a good idea, huh?” Lars chortles.

Kirk grins, “You could say that.”

────

Jason kisses his head when he leaves for work in the morning.

“See you later, love you,” he murmurs, closing the bedroom door with a quiet click. Kirk smiles like an idiot into the pillows.

He rolls out of bed an hour later, sliding into Jason’s henley and making breakfast. Then he works more on his draft, pacing around the living room, thinking of how he wants to reveal the identity of the monster.

He works for most of the day, tapping away on an ancient typewriter he’d specifically bought in order to feel ‘more connected to the writing process’, as Lars would say. Kirk had actually just wanted to see what it was like and found that he kind of loved the experience, the way the letters would be struck across the page in little blotches of ink. 

Jason comes home around five, collapsing onto the couch behind Kirk. “Ugh, I’m so hungry,” He groans, “You want some soup?”

Kirk nods, carefully whiting out a couple errors he accidentally missed. "Yeah, that'd be great, thanks Jase."

Later, the pot bubbling on the stove, him and Jason read over the draft, circling and discussing, heads leaned together over the page.

────

“What’s it like,” Kirk murmurs one evening once they’re crumpled together, no longer breathless, the soiled sheets thrown into the wash.

Jason’s face-planted on the bed beside him. “What’s what like?” he groans, slowly turning over to face Kirk.

Kirk rests his head against Jason’s chest. “Like, when you transform. What does it feel like?” 

Jason shrugs. “I don’t actually really remember much of it. Like, there’ll be certain things, but they're- blurry, almost? I can’t make out specific locations or people the wolf sees, and my control is kind of limited. It’s basically like the wolf gets to run around for a few hours and then I wake up covered in blood and dirt.”

Kirk snorts a laugh, “What do you look like?”

Jason hums, “I’m not really sure. I only know the wolf has blue eyes.”

 _Blue eyes_. Kirk freezes.

Jason notices the way he goes rigid, because he looks down at Kirk, “Hey, what’s wrong?” Kirk digs through his bedside table, producing the polaroid he took two months ago.

“Is- Is this,” he gulps, “Is this you?”

Jason takes the photograph gingerly, mouth dropping open. “Jesus, when did you take this?” Jason gasps, “God, Kirk, I didn’t attack you, did I?”

Kirk shakes his head, “No, nothing happened! You just- the wolf snapped its teeth at me and scared the shit out of me, but I didn't get hurt, or anything.”

Jason sighs. He sets the photograph down. “I don’t,” he murmurs, voice gravelly, “I don’t want you to ever get hurt, because of me. Because I know it could happen.” Jason scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m a liability, Kirk, you have to know that,” Jason says, serious, “And I couldn’t live with myself if- if I hurt you.”

Kirk grabs Jason’s wrist. “You won’t,” Kirk says, leaning in to kiss Jason, “I know you wouldn’t. Ever.” He cups Jason’s face, “You _wouldn’t_. I promise.”

Kirk pushes himself into Jason’s arms, letting the warmth from Jason wrapped around him lull him to sleep.

────

The phone in the living room rings shrilly.

“Holy shit holy shit holy shit,” Cliff says, once Kirk picks up, hearing the clatter of something in the background, the faint slam of a door, “Holy shit, dude, you were right.”

 _Oh._ “I guess you got the photograph, huh,” Kirk says, turning away from his draft and putting his feet on his desk. He lights up a cigarette- a bad habit, but undeniably soothing.

“That’s an understatement, Kirk, and you know it,” Cliff says, but he laughs, too. “Holy fuck. That’s wild. Have you seen it again?”

Kirk pauses, chewing his lip. God, how is he supposed to answer this?

“Kirk?” Cliff asks, his voice crackly, “You there?”

“Yeah,” Kirk says, nodding, “I- I saw him again.”

“Wait… him? How do you know that?”

Kirk winces, “‘Cause, he’s now my... boyfriend?” 

There’s silence across the line, and then Cliff bursts into laughter.

“You little monsterfucker!” Cliff shouts, cackling, and it makes Kirk laugh, too. “I always knew you were too into horror for your own good!”

Kirk sputters, “Hey, man, you like horror too! Don’t think I forgot about how you used to say the girl from Nightmare on Elm Street was, like, 'hot as fuck', dude!” 

Cliff snorts.

“Jesus, we’re morons,” He laughs, before his voice goes serious, “But is he treating you right?”

Kirk feels himself blush, smiling softly.

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, he is.”

────

The full moon comes once again.

Kirk takes Jason's pickup truck out into the forest, sitting and writing as the radio plays, Jason somewhere deep in the trees.

They've figured out a system: Jason will transform and hunt, and Kirk will wait it out, parked in one spot so it's easy for the wolf to remember where to return to (it also makes getting Jason home when he's all disoriented a lot easier.)

Kirk hums, pen tapping against his notebook. He's getting closer to the end, only needing to wrap up a few chapters. The relief of seeing the finish line in sight propels him forwards, excites him. Kirk fiddles with the radio dial as he thinks, swapping stations in intermittent bursts of static.

_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, tracing of sparrow on snow-crested ground_

He glances at the clock on the dash: it's nearly one in the morning, and he’s fucking _exhausted._

Kirk sets his notebook aside and snuggles further into Jason's cable-knit sweater, leaning back in the passenger seat. Jason will wake him up when he gets back, anyways, so it’ll be fine if Kirk naps for a while.

He's woken by the truck wobbling.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Kirk groans, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “I got your clothes, so we can go back-”

The rest of his sentence stutters to a stop, because there's a snout pressed against the window, a pitch-black werewolf with gold eyes looming over the truck. Even though he can only see the head, Kirk can tell this werewolf is huge, even bigger than Jason, and Kirk swallows down a ball of nerves. The werewolf sniffs the pane, breath condensing against the glass. Its eyes gleam in the darkness, piercing and cruel. 

Kirk freezes. _Please go away please go away please go away-_

The werewolf pauses. Then it shoves its head against the truck, harder, rocking it on its tires.

Kirk shrieks, grabbing for the seats. The truck crashes back onto the passenger’s side tires, Kirk clinging to the headrest. The werewolf brings its head down, eyes level with Kirk. It’s playing with him. It knows he’s frightened, can smell that acrid tang of fear, taste Kirk's terror, and it wants _more._

“Leave me alone,” Kirk whispers, voice cracking.

The werewolf bares its teeth, a growl rumbling up out of its throat, saliva dripping onto the dirt. Kirk reaches shakily for the glovebox, for the flare gun he knows is nestled inside. Suddenly, there's a dark blur in the corner of Kirk's eyes, and the werewolf goes crashing out of sight.

It takes him a moment to comprehend what just happened. He belatedly realizes that Jason had come charging out of the forest, throwing himself at the black-furred werewolf to defend Kirk. His eyes are barely able to keep track of the snarling, writhing masses of the two werewolves. Jason's above, mouth stained red, teeth flashing in the moonlight as he dives in, eyes _burning._

Kirk watches with horror as the other werewolf bites down, _hard,_ across Jason's leg, clawing its way on top, going for the throat in a burst of fury, growling and snarling. There's blood all over the dirt, thick and dark.

Before he knows what he's doing, Kirk's hands have grabbed the flare gun and he's popped the door, leaning out and pointing it at the other werewolf, hands shaky. The other werewolf gets its jaws wrapped around Jason's throat, Jason howling, and Kirk shoots.

The flare singes along a hind flank, burning bright red in the night. It doesn't do much damage, but it must startle the other werewolf into letting go, because Jason writhes out from beneath, claws digging through thick fur, teeth clamping around an ear and tearing, blood splattering. There's an earth-shattering howl, and Kirk drops the flare gun to cover his ears. He watches as Jason claws for the eyes, watching the tear of fur and the spray of blood, lit up ghastly red as the flare sparks above the trees. There’s a yelp from the other werewolf, its eyes rolling, panicked in a sea of white as it wrenches itself free from Jason’s grip, disappearing into the forest.

Kirk’s frozen. Jason's there in the clearing, his brown fur ragged and clumped with blood, wounds leaking, bright eyes trained on the forest. He's stoic, wavering slightly, making sure the threat is gone before he turns to face Kirk. 

Kirk's beside him in an instant.

“Jason!” he cries, watching as the wolf disappears, as _his_ Jason returns, collapsed in the dirt and covered in blood.

Kirk feels himself turn pale. “Jason-Jason, I’m sorry,” he sobs, distantly realizing that tears are streaming down his cheeks, too busy trying to see where Jason's hurt, too busy trying to fix it to care that he's blubbering. “Oh god, oh god, I gotta- I'm sorry-”

Jason grabs his face. “Kirk,” he wheezes, “It's okay. They'll heal on their own, watch.”

Kirk pauses in wiping away the blood with his ragged flannel, watching as the torn skin fuses together, cuts once weeping blood slowing to a trickle before closing fully. 

“What-how?” He gasps, running his fingers over Jason's thigh. There's just the slightest scratch, skin slightly uneven and puffy-pink. Jason shrugs. “Werewolf blood,” he croaks, and Kirk pulls him up, wraps him in a blanket. “Let's go home?”

Kirk wipes Jason up once they get back to the cabin, kisses him gently on each scar, each scratch, carefully bandaging over the inflamed skin.

────

Kirk is like, super fucking horny. 

Jason knows by now, anyways, that Kirk thinks watching him work shirtless in the backyard is like, so hot. All those muscles, and the way they glisten with sweat in the gentle rays of the setting sun? _Fuck._ Jason just giggles when Kirk drags him up the stairs to the bedroom.

So like, Kirk’s a nice guy, wants his partner to get off and enjoy themselves. But he loves when he can make them _squirm,_ loves when they’re willing to let him fulfill his desire for power trips, loves when he can break them down, make them beg. It’s hot as _fuck_.

Some people might call him a sadist. But like, Kirk’s no asshole. There’s just nothing better than when Jason gets desperate for it, raspy voice all wavery.

And Jason's sweet as hell, all too happy to let Kirk pull his chain. He's so _easy_ for it, especially in the days post-transformation when he’s all soft and willing, eager for Kirk to fuck him through the mattress. 

God, Kirk loves him. 

“Fuck,” Kirk groans, hands cupping Jason’s cheeks, fucking his tongue into Jason’s mouth, the two of them a contorted mess across his bed.

Jason moans, bucking his hips up slightly, fingers restless against the hem of Kirk's shirt and lips opened in a pretty gasp. Kirk slides his thumb into Jason's mouth, grinding against Jason’s thigh, watching the soft glide of Jason’s tongue as it slides around his finger, needy and hot.

“Wait,” Kirk says, once the two of them are undressed and prone across the sheets, “I wanna watch you play with yourself.”

“What.” Jason’s voice catches. 

“It’ll be hot.” 

“But-”

Jason’s voice is wobbly, embarrassed, and it sends a little flash of heat through Kirk’s nerves.

“C'mon, baby, it’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

Jason turns bright red. 

“Fuck-” Jason gasps, voice dying out as Kirk trails a finger over his nipple, digging in the bedside table for the bottle of lube which he tosses onto Jason’s stomach. Kirk shifts back onto his knees, the heat in his stomach growing with his desire to _watch_. Jason’s needy, flushed, waiting for directions.

“Bring your hands up,” Kirk murmurs, watching as Jason obeys him. “Good. Now pinch your nipples. Twist them.”

The fire under Kirk's skin _burns_ at how Jason's lips part on a soundless moan, fingers rolling across the dusky-pink buds of his nipples until they peak. 

_Fuck,_ he's pretty. Kirk wants to jack off and splatter cum all over his tits, over his abs.

“Run your hands down your stomach. Slow. Don't touch your dick.”

Jason whines, hips canting up as his fingers slide lower, dipping between his thighs where Kirk knows he's soft, skin silky and gorgeous when covered in hickeys.

“Grab the lube and slick yourself up. Start with one finger.”

“But-” Jason moans, “It feels better when you do it.”

Kirk smoothes a gentle hand over Jason's hip. “But it's so hot watching you, baby, please?”

Jason lets out a little bitten-off noise.

Kirk watches, enthralled, as Jason spreads his legs open across the sheets and bends his knees, pouring the lube over his fingers before rubbing one over his hole, smoothing before he works it in, moaning at the stretch. Kirk strokes his dick loosely, just to take the edge off, running a thumb across the slit, his hips jerking as he watches Jason finger himself open.

“Add another,” Kirk whispers, voice raspy and hungry as he watches Jason obey, a second finger slipping in. Jason gasps, hips twitching, voice breaking on a sob. 

“Kirk, Kirk, Kirk, I-,” he moans, fingers scissoring between his legs, muscles shifting as he spreads his legs further.

Kirk wants to dive in, wants to bite along the pale column of his neck. He wants to fuck Jason until there’s bruises on his hips, wants to eat him out until he cries, wants to finger him until all he can do is moan. 

“Shit, you're so fucking hot. Look at you. _Fuck_.” Kirk groans. 

He’s reverent, could make a religion of the gorgeous boy in his bed. The coil of pleasure in his gut twists at the way Jason sobs, voice broken, slamming his hips down against the stretch of his fingers. Kirk's hand moves faster, twisting under the head, mouth dropping open. God, there's something about the rush of heat he feels, the slide of his hand over his dick combining with the electric jolt of pleasure at watching Jason, seeing him all needy and flushed and wanton.

“Kirk, please, please, I need-” Jason moans, gasping as he twists his fingers all slow and slick, lips wavering as he sucks in a breath, “ _Fuck- ah_!”

 _God_.

“Yeah, baby, you’re so good,” Kirk murmurs, watching as Jason lets his fingers slip free, eyes drawn to a little drip of lube along the crease of his thigh. Kirk slicks his fingers up, sliding one along Jason's rim where he's all stretched and pink and wet, still slightly loose from Kirk fucking him last night. _Look-_ Kirk knows he’s insatiable. He just wants to eat Jason alive, like, all the time.

Kirk slides his fingers in, spreading them, working them against that tight, hot heat. Jason goes limp, his hands coming up to fist in the sheets, moaning when Kirk lets his tongue trail along the underside of Jason's dick, whining high in his throat when Kirk sucks a hickey into his inner thigh.

“ _Please,_ Kirk- _ah_! Fuck- _please--_ ”

Kirk slows his fingers, pulling them out with a slick, filthy little squelch and grabbing for a condom in his night table. 

Jason looks like an angel below him, head thrown back against the pillows, skin flushed all pink. There's tear tracks along his cheeks. Kirk feels his dick twitch against his stomach, stifling a groan as he slides the condom on and slicks himself up. 

Pushing into Jason, Kirk bites his lip, a moan squeezing out. Jason’s _so_ hot and wet and tight against him, a heady mixture from _heaven_. 

“God, _fuck-,_ ” Kirk gasps, hips ticking forwards at Jason's broken whine, savouring the way Jason's eyes scrunch closed at the slow glide of Kirk's dick, the way his thighs wrap around Kirk's hips.

Kirk leans in to bite across Jason’s neck, licking at the indents of his teeth, sucking hard, and Jason jolts as if he’s been shocked. Kirk gingerly wraps a hand around Jason's neck, feeling that hot spark in his guts at the way Jason tilts up into his hold, baring his neck further. Kirk squeezes, a little.

Jason _moans._ His eyes glaze over, all dazed and fucked-out.

Kirk feels the switch, suddenly, the way the air goes hot and heavy around them, the way everything seems to fade to this pin-prick moment.

It electrifies him.

“Jesus, baby, you’re fucked up,” Kirk whispers, watching the way Jason keens under his praise, face going hot, “Don’t move unless I say so, okay?”

Jason whines, “ _Fuck, fuck, god,_ okay- love you, _ah!_ -”

Kirk snaps his hips forwards, leans in to bite down on Jason’s lip, reveling in the way Jason sobs, writhing under him, begging “ _please, please, please_.”

Kirk scrapes his teeth over Jason’s collarbones, sucking a dark hickey along the base of his neck. He lets his fingers catch against a nipple, entertains the thought of biting down, leaving them purpled and bruised. Kirk’s never been good at denying himself the things he wants, anyways. 

He pinches one, and Jason’s hips jerk up with a yelp.

Kirk pulls back, watching as Jason drops back down to the bed.

“Fuck- ‘m sorry-”

Kirk bites across a nipple, hard, watching with amazement at the way Jason shudders under him, taking a desperate breath. Kirk presses his hands around Jason’s throat, feels the way the heat seeps through his palms, smoothing over the reddened skin.

“More?” Kirk whispers, hips thrusting, slow and deep, purposefully avoiding that spot he knows will make Jason beg. _Please, say yes, say yes._

 _Pretty little thing,_ Kirk's subconscious says, _pretty little thing I want to make cry_.

Jason gasps out a _yes_ , tilts himself up into Kirk’s hands. Kirk squeezes and Jason makes a sound like he’s been punched, dick jerking against his stomach, all red and flushed across the soft hair of his navel. Kirk wants to take a picture, wants to replay this moment forever. 

“C’mon, baby, you're so good. Think you can come on my cock?” Kirk says under his breath, and Jason nods, lips begging soundlessly as Kirk leans in to bite across his neck, smoothing his tongue over angry, reddened skin. 

Kirk thrusts forwards, hard and fast, squeezing at his throat. Jason throws his head back on a watery moan, coming all over his stomach, shuddering through it. 

“ _Fuck_ , I love you, fuck,” Kirk curses, losing himself in the way Jason clenches around him, the fucked-out look in Jason's eyes, the hickeys against his neck, everything going light.

When Kirk's brain comes back online, Jason's sleepy below him. Kirk swipes a finger through the mess on Jason's stomach before pushing it into Jason's mouth, right between his slick lips. Jason curls his tongue around Kirk's finger, licks it clean. Even with his eyes heavy-lidded and exhaustion evident, Jason swallows, expression saying _aren't I good? Look at me, being good for you._

Kirk kisses him until they're both breathless. 

────

“Congrats, dude,” Cliff laughs, “Can’t believe you’re already done.”

Kirk giggles, “I know, right? And to think I was having so much trouble with it.” He leans back into Jason’s arms, the two of them sprawled across the couch under a woolen blanket watching The Thing.

“I’m assuming you’ve already talked to James,” Cliff hums.

Kirk nods, “Yup, got that sorted.”

“So are you coming back soon?”

Kirk frowns. On one hand, he misses his friends back in San Francisco, misses the food and his apartment and the beach. On the other hand, he’s come to love this town, the quiet of the woods and the gorgeous scenery, and he loves Jason most of all. 

“Mmm, I’m actually thinking about moving out here,” Kirk murmurs, grinning at the way he feels Jason jerk with surprise behind him. “It’ll be nice. Don’t worry, I’ll come back to visit often too.”

Cliff laughs, “You little slut. Alright, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Kirk hangs up, shivering when he feels Jason’s nose trail along his neck. “You’re staying?” He murmurs, “Why?”

Kirk rolls over. “”Cause I love it here with you. Besides, then we can always go back to San Fran. Ever seen the beach?

Jason shakes his head. “Show me,” He smiles, snuggling into Kirk under the blankets.

────

Months later, Kirk’s book sent to the publishing house, his possessions moved out to Jason's cabin, the two of them drive out a couple days after the full moon to visit San Francisco.

Kirk shows Jason the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Wharf, takes him for lunch at a burger joint he’d always go to during his college days, sharing a plate of fries and poring over a map of the city. They go to the art museum and spend all day trying to find paintings that look like one another, Kirk snapping pictures with his polaroid when Jason’s distracted, laughing when Jason catches him, smile all dimpled and sweet. 

They meet Cliff for dinner at a sushi restaurant: it becomes one of Kirk’s favourite memories, the three of them laughing at the bar, drinking sake and chatting horror. Afterwards, while Jason goes to pay, Cliff pulls Kirk aside, whispers, “He’s good for you,” into Kirk’s ear. Kirk grins, replies, “I know.”

Kirk drives them to the beach, the two of them wrapped in a blanket, standing in the sand under the half-sliver of the moon and the stars twinkling above, dark waves crashing onto the shore.

“I love you,” Jason whispers, lips trailing against Kirk’s ear. Kirk pulls him down for a kiss, smiling against Jason’s lips, murmuring _I love you too,_ smoothing a thumb over Jason’s cheek before kissing him again.

────

So like, not that having a werewolf boyfriend would be considered normal, in any sense of the word, but it really almost _does_ become the normal.

And like, Kirk fucking loves horror, so it's kind of a natural fit, even though he's not a huge fan of blood.

He even gets _used_ to tracking down his dumb werewolf boyfriend when he takes off into the trees, 'cause the wolf thinks that Kirk wants to play chase, wants to run after him at two in the morning in a dark forest full of wild animals, because, like, who doesn't?

Kirk doesn't, that's who.

But he does it anyways, 'cause like, he's balls-to-the-wall in love. 100% fucked up over Jason. 

And then, when he finally catches his dumbass boyfriend and shouts his name and throws him his clothes and wipes the blood off Jason's face with a wet rag (because Jason is like, super out of it when he comes back), they go home and Jason pulls Kirk into him under the blankets of their bed, smelling fresh like pine needles and wet earth, and Kirk never wants to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> me, a little gremlin: JASON'S WHIPPED- but also, look at kirk and tell me he's not secretly a little bit of a sadist in bed,,, like, c'mon.
> 
> tumblr @[pinkmaggitmp3](https://pinkmaggitmp3.tumblr.com)
> 
> <3


End file.
